Kathryn forced herself not to react. She and Gerrod had decided only earlier in the day to search for clues in Chrismferry. How had Argent known? Kathryn noted Master Hesharian seeming to take particular attention in the dirt under one of his nails. Gerrod also glanced to the head of the Council of Masters. Plainly he must have informed the council to get permission to leave, and word had reached Argent through his fat puppet.
Gerrod bowed his head. “I am indeed heading to Chrismferry at dawn. I wish to consult the ancient library of Nirraborath and to obtain a few alchemic items.”
“Good… very good. I was wondering if you’d be willing to do a favor for the Citadel. Master Hesharian has assured me you’d be most cooperative.”
“If it is in my capacity to comply, I certainly will.”
“I have a parcel that I wish carried by a most trusted hand to Chrism’s castillion. It may be delivered to the keeper of the house there. Keeper Ryngold has already dispatched a raven to announce your coming. I hope that wasn’t presumptuous.”
“Not at all. There is an alchemy shop I wish to visit in the shadow of the castillion.”
“Thank you. Visit Keeper Ryngold’s chambers before retiring to obtain and secure the parcel.” Argent’s attention swung away, as good as a dismissal. His gaze again fell upon Kathryn. Argent smiled but the warmth did not reach his one eye. “Am I to understand that you need a courier to dispatch a message to Chrismferry? Mayhap Master Rothkild could deliver that also?”
Kathryn stood very still, attempting to keep from letting any sign of shock showing. No one knew about the letter except Gerrod, herself
… and Lorr. She pictured the tracker. Moments before she had professed her trust in the man. Was it misplaced? But she had only told Lorr about the letter and her wish to visit Perryl when she was ready to leave her chambers. The tracker had not been out of her sight after that.
So how had Argent found out?
She cleared her throat. “That is most kind, Warden Fields, but Master Rothkild and I have already discussed the matter in private.”
Then again, did she have any privacy? Argent clearly was enjoying this moment. Was that all the purpose of the show here? To illustrate to Kathryn how much a stranglehold Argent had on her comings and goings, on her most intimate moments and plans? He must have spies everywhere.
She refused to let him rattle her. “This matter is best handled by a Shadowknight.”
Argent nodded and waved away the question. “So be it. You are the castellan of Tashijan.”
Master Hesharian wore a thick smirk at these words.
Argent began to turn away, then swung back toward Kathryn. “If that’s the case, mayhap you’d best deliver your letter without further waste. We can handle matters from here on our own. It’s all a tedious matter of shuffling knights anyway.”
Again she was being dismissed, shut out of the proceedings here. She did not protest this time. She had only to picture the young knight, naked and bloody, to want to flee as fast as she could from the warden’s presence.
They spent another few moments bowing out, but soon Gerrod and Kathryn were free of the field room. She found Lorr already awaiting her with Barrin and Hern. The pair of bullhounds sat on their haunches. Stubbed tails wagged at the sight of her.
Lorr straightened with a curry brush. He had been combing down Barrin. “That was nigh quick. Hardly worth the long climb.”
Kathryn frowned at him. Argent had only been pulling her string, making sure his puppet would still respond.
“Are you off to your chambers?” Lorr asked, nodding down the hall.
“It is late,” Gerrod said. “I could deliver the letter to Ser Corriscan.”
“No, I’d prefer to see Perryl myself.” Kathryn was in no spirit to be ensconced in her hermitage. The day had been too bloody, too disturbing. She wanted nothing better than to go to the stable, saddle the fastest horse, and ride until she could forget all this. But she’d settle for a bit more walking. Besides, she needed to explain all to Perryl, to see if he knew of any strange disappearances among his young knights. It was a place to begin her own investigations. “I’ll accompany you as far as his floor, then,” Gerrod offered.
Kathryn smiled her grateful thanks.
They continued back to the stairs, Barrin and Lorr in the lead again. Kathryn felt an odd comfort in the presence of the two hulking bullhounds.
They walked in silence for a long stretch.
Gerrod finally spoke, whispering to keep their words private. “You know what that was all about, don’t you?”
Kathryn nodded. “He’s flexing his muscles.”
A nod. “Our warden grows bolder, more assured of his position and security. And rightly so, I’m afraid. Tashijan bows at his feet.”
“Not all of Tashijan,” Kathryn said fiercely. “There’s us… and whoever might have led us to that bloody chamber. You mentioned before that a shadowcloak hid more than just a knight’s face. I think there are more folk on our side than is plain to see.”
“You may be right, but to fight for Tashijan, it can’t all be done in shadows.”
Kathryn knew the truth of his words. Eventually swords would have to be raised and sides chosen.
At last they reached the landing to Perryl’s floor. It was one of the lowest of the Citadel’s boarding levels, for the knights new to their cloak. Gerrod said his good-byes as he continued down to the subterranean levels of the masters.
Once Gerrod was out of sight, Kathryn and Lorr exited the stair and followed through the warren of narrow passages and low doors.
Kathryn remembered her first years in these halls. It had been a happier time, free of subterfuge and heartache.
She heard laughter from some of the rooms and the rattle of bone cups. The characteristic sour stench of stale ale persisted, soaked into the very stones of this hall. Somewhere farther down the hall a brief scuffle of swords, knights challenging one another, testing, competing.
She wended her way through the maze of corridors to reach Perryl’s cell. “Over there,” she said, pointing out the proper door. She glanced to make sure she had the letter and that the name upon it was not smudged. Satisfied, she crossed to the door and knocked upon it.
Barrin and Hern took up posts on either side, all but filling the hallway. Lorr kept behind her.
There was no answer. Maybe he was gone, off with friends.
She knocked harder.
A scuffle of noise sounded beyond the door. Someone was home.
“Perryl…” she called through the planks of the door.
Silence answered her.
“Perryl, it’s Kathryn.”
A moment of silence, then a muffled response. “Come inside… but be quick about it.”
Kathryn tried the door. It was unlatched. She shoved it open. A small hearth crackled to one side of the greeting room. Beyond an archway, the bedchamber lay dark.
A cloaked Shadowknight stood by the hearth, facing the flames. “Close the door. Latch it.”
She obeyed, though she knew instantly the figure was not Perryl. The shoulders were too broad, the figure sturdier of frame. Even cloaked from head to foot, Kathryn knew the stranger was far older than the young man she had come to see.
“Where’s Perryl?” she asked.
“Gone… disappeared… no one knows where… but there was blood on his bed.”
Kathryn pictured the slain knight in the Fiery Cross. Fear gripped her. If Argent knew of her letter, did he know whom she planned to send?
“Wh… who are you?”
The Shadowknight turned, his face hidden by a wrap of masklin, his stripes plain to see. “Don’t you know me?”
Kathryn stared into his eyes. The room spun, her knees weakened. Time slipped from the past to the present.
“Tylar…”
FOURTH